And the Winner Is
by Lemon Row
Summary: Dean and Castiel have established a tradition, of sorts, when it comes to their post-hunt celebrations. Unfortunately, Sam is sometimes a little more well-informed than he'd like to be about it. A short, brush-your-teeth-after-you-read-this piece of fluff, told from Sam and Dean's POV.


Sam was shoved into consciousness when he felt the world drop out from under him before it slammed upwards again. In the same instant, his head cracked against the passenger-side window, throwing him into an upright position.

"_Shit_. Sorry, baby."

Blinking away the fog that had collected in his vision, he frowned at hearing such a phrase tumble out of his brother's mouth. A second later he realized: Dean was talking to the _car_, not him.

"What happened?" Sam yawned, massaging his eyes open.

"Pothole. Didn't see it what with the giant _boat_ cruising in front of us," Dean grumbled, waving his hand at the Buick in front of them.

"Well, y'know. Maybe if you weren't following so closely…"

Dean's answer to that comment was a side-eyed glare, and the press of his foot on the accelerator. Sam just rolled his eyes. "So, how far out are we?" he asked, checking for any familiar scenery but not finding anything noteworthy. Their outbound had been a hasty one, as they were chasing down a Kalishar that had four families and a few teenagers held hostage in a bowling alley on the outer edge of town. So, not a lot of opportunity to map out the local decor.

"'Bout twenty minutes. Give or take."

"All right." Tipping his head back, forth, and sideways to help loosen up his neck a bit, Sam caught sight of the back seat. Of the _empty_ back seat. "Where's Cas?"

Flexing his fingers around the steering wheel, Dean cleared his throat, chin dipping downward. He also seemed to be quite focused on _not_ looking at Sam. Gaze fixed so firmly to the road ahead of him that it may as well have been stuck there with super glue, duct tape, and a staple gun. "Cas, uh… Went on ahead. He's booking us a second room."

"Second room?" Sam tilted his head in confusion. The three of them had shared a single room last night with no problems, so… "Why would Cas need to…?"

And then it hit him. "Oh." Sam's jaw snapped shut, and something between a smile and a grimace passed over his face. Following his brother's gaze to the stretch of highway in front of them, he glanced over at Dean again for an instant. A quick check to make sure he was right before he even spit it out. "So. Victory sex?"

Dean's face split into a grin, and he nodded. "Victory sex." With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he closed his digits around the volume knob on the radio and cranked it up to eleven.

[|]-|-+-|-[|]

"Cas. Cas- _wait,_ man. Wait!" Dean protested between the heated, open-mouthed kisses they planted on each other's lips, necks, collarbones- any patch of clear flesh they could reach. "Gotta- mmph! Shower first."

"_Dean_." Cas broke away to regard the hunter solemnly. Standing with his trench coat and tie both missing, one arm still in his suit jacket, and the top three buttons of his shirt undone. "We are about to engage in the sort of activities that will undo whatever you hope to accomplish by showering. So. Don't."

Considering the hot, pliant angel that was plastered to his front like wallpaper, versus the cold, barren tile of the shower some twenty feet away, the decision wasn't a difficult one to make. "All right," Dean agreed with a nod, chin already tilting forward to catch Cas' mouth for another kiss.

Dropping backwards to sit on the bed, he reached out with one hand in the same movement and snagged one of Cas' hips. He pulled the angel forward into the space between his knees, hissing with delight when he felt those deft fingertips claw their way up his torso, dragging his t-shirt along with them.

Prodding hands and the bump of his hips against Dean's solar plexus coaxed the hunter further back on the bed. He stretched onto his back as Cas moved to straddle him, one of Dean's hands working at the angel's belt buckle, the other clamped around the back of his neck as they drank each other in. Biting and licking and sucking around gasps and quiet moans.

_Fuck_. Four months into their relationship, and Dean was all but certain he'd never get enough of this. Of wanting, and being wanted. Body, mind, and heart. _All the freaking time_.

"So," Dean murmured in the small space between them, where their noses were brushing against each other, their breaths mingling as they focused on dismantling each other's clothing. "How do you want me first, Cas?" he asked, nipping gently at a stubble-brushed chin.

Cas sat up on his haunches, reaching for the bottle of lube he'd already placed on the nightstand. Hitching forward a bit where he straddled Dean's thighs, he stirred his hips downwards so that Dean's erection, still trapped beneath a layer of denim, was resting against the cleft of his ass. Gasping, eyes rolling back, he cupped the angel's thighs at the same time that the plastic tube landed on his chest.

Continuing his teasing thrusts, Castiel looked down at him from beneath half-opened eyelids, a soft smile toying with the corner of his mouth as he breathed. "I want you inside."

[|]-|-+-|-[|]

Most of the customers were finished breakfast and onto their second cup of coffee by the time Sam meandered into the motel-adjacent diner the next morning. He didn't usually sleep so late, but this week's hunt hadn't exactly been easy. By the time he'd finally laid down in bed, his muscles had rallied together in a rather vocal protest against any further locomotion, and he was at that stage of exhaustion where he couldn't go more than a half-minute without yawning. So, with a double room all to himself, and neither of the rooms on either side of him occupied (_thank you,_ Cas), he'd sunk into unconsciousness like a lead brick encased in concrete.

No big deal, though. With what they'd had planned last night, Dean and Cas were probably still…

Oh. Huh.

They were already here.

Sam stopped in his tracks, straightened up, and cocked an eyebrow in surprise when he spotted his brother and the angel camped out in a booth by the window. Dean was leaning forward in his seat, hands no doubt folded around a mug of coffee. Castiel was beside him, back straight, head turned towards the hunter as he spoke.

"Hey guys," Sam greeted them, sliding into the bench on the other side of the table. He refrained from making any 'surprised to see you here already' comments, knowing it would just prompt Dean to make some sort of remark about their activities the previous evening. Which Sam really, really didn't want to her about. _Really_.

"Sammy, hey!" Dean smiled wide, pushing a cup of coffee across the table for him.

"Good morning, Sam," Cas echoed his partner with a gentle smile and a nod.

"Glad you showed up. Cas and I were just talking- you okay with hitting the road as soon as we're done here?" Dean asked, waving his index finger over the table. "There's an Eastwood marathon starting at seven tonight, so I wanna make it back to the bunker by then."

"Uh. Yeah- sure." Sam shrugged as he grabbed the laminated menu and gave it a once-over. He was glad to see that this diner had fruit on its menu besides that which came in sauce or jam form. "Didn't really think you wanted to stick around Brockton, Massachusetts anyway," he added with a laugh.

Dean looked like he was about to make a light-hearted argument in favour of the city when their waiter appeared, notebook already out and pen poised at its surface. "So, number three has arrived, I see. This mean you guys are ready to order?"

Sam looked to his brother and Castiel for confirmation, and they both nodded. "Yeah. I'm gonna have the spring veggie egg white omelette with a side of fruit salad, and a glass of orange juice, please."

Next it was Dean's turn. Not surprisingly, he asked for the 'full breakfast', which came with two kinds of meat, eggs, toast, and hash browns.

Castiel, meanwhile… asked for the full breakfast, an omelette, a double stack of pancakes, and an eight-ounce chopped steak. Their waiter took down each item with a growing look of alarm, while the proud smile on Dean's face blossomed in equal increments.

"Um, are you _sure_ about all that?" their waiter- Geoff –asked, both eyebrows cocked so high they nearly got lost in his hairline.

"Yes."

Speaking up when Geoff looked unconvinced by Cas' flat, even response, Dean smiled, nodded, and clapped Cas on the shoulder. "He's sure. Believe me."

Sam couldn't blame the guy for being sceptical. Cas had the body of a long-distance runner, and was permanently dressed as a tax accountant. Two traits that didn't normally coincide with the appetite of a famished lumberjack caveman. He just chuckled softly to himself, adding this to the list of amusing moments that one got to witness when travelling with an angel.

But then, as Sam was taking his first long, soothing sip of coffee, as though he thought he needed to further explain, Cas leaned in across the table, eyes darting between the two Winchester brothers. "I find that I am always remarkably hungry after six or more hours of vigorous intercourse."

Fire burned down Sam's throat and up into his nostrils as he ejected the coffee from his mouth in a horrid sort of cough-snorting motion. Eyes watering up immediately, he slammed his mug down onto the table, taking deep breaths of cool air to clear out his nose and trachea. "_Cas_!" he barked, though it came out as a choked yell.

Sitting back again, the angel cocked his head at him. "Yes?"

Glancing at Dean, Sam knew he wasn't going to be of any help. Coffee mug held up, he cleared his throat in a show of discomfort, but there was a glimmer in his eyes and a smile sharpening the corners of his mouth.

Of course _he _found it frigging _hilarious_.

"Dude," Sam growled once he regained the ability to proper articulate his words again.

"What is it, Sam?"

Oh, no. No, he wasn't getting away with this. Glaring at the angel and his innocent, clueless expression, Sam took a breath and jabbed a finger at him. "Dude. _Don't_. You've been with us long enough now to know that's the sort of thing you don't say at the breakfast table. Or, you know… _anywhere_."

Besides, Cas didn't even technically _get_ hungry. Sam held back from making that argument though, not wanting to dilute the point he was trying to make at the moment.

Expression having turned pensive, Castiel nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry, Sam. I'll try not to do it again," he rumbled with concern, turning to gaze out the window on his right.

For a second, Sam actually bought it. He looked sincere as he apologized. Certainly _sounded_ sincere. But as he shifted to look outside, the faintest hint of a grin flashed across the angel's mouth.

_Sonofabitch_.

Looking to Dean, who'd been watching the proceedings with a mockingly solemn expression, Sam could tell that he'd caught the little smirk, too. Huffing out a breath of frustration, he gave him a '_little help, here?_' sort of gesture.

Sighing softly, Dean sat back in his seat. "Hey. What can I say, Sam?" He set down his mug, and toyed with his cutlery with the ends of his fingers. Glancing at Cas, he shrugged with one shoulder, and held up his other hand in a show of defeat as a proud smirk worked its way across his mouth. "I'm damn good at what I do."


End file.
